


Spit or Swallow

by mrs_squirrel_chester



Category: Jurassic World (2015)
Genre: F/M, Female Reader, Female Reader NSFW, Female Reader SMUT, Female Reader one shot, Female reader insert, NSFW, One Shot, Owen Grady / Female Reader - Freeform, Owen Grady NSFW, Owen Grady SMUT, Owen Grady one shot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 16:06:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4793816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_squirrel_chester/pseuds/mrs_squirrel_chester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I had a dream about a drinking game with Owen Grady and couldn’t get it out of my head. Nor do I ever want to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spit or Swallow

**Author's Note:**

> There’s no real dialogue. Everything that is italicized is either an internal thought, dialogue, or to stress the point of a word. Make sense? Rules of the game. Person takes a shot and holds it in their mouth, if they spit or swallow before anyone else, they have to remove a piece of clothing.

Owen’s fingers made it damn near impossible to see the shot glass as he threw his head back. Once the glass was slammed on the table, his blue eyes glittered, drilling into yours.

You held the fireball whiskey captive in your mouth, refusing to swallow the shot. It wasn’t so much the fact that the whiskey burned the back of your throat that made you want to swallow it, it was Owen and the way he was watching you. One eyebrow arched playfully while he drummed impossibly thick fingers against the table. Despite the fact that there were two other people at the table, it felt like it was just the two of you.

It had been his idea to play a drinking game. You came up with the name and the rules on your own. _Spit or swallow_ had gotten the reaction you wanted out of a certain raptor alpha.

_The hell kind of game is that?_

_Watch and learn_ you had said as a box laden with various bottles were dropped onto the table. Everyone eyed the fireball whiskey, vodka, tequila, orange juice, sprite, tomato juice, Jameson, Kahlua, moonshine, lemon juice, and milk before groaning. This could get interesting, and fast.

The greenhorn on your left spit his shot out, gasping for some much needed air before grabbing a bottle of water and emptying it in four massive chugs.

While everyone swallowed their drinks, Barry cringed as it burned a trail down his chest. He waved at the loser in a _let’s get this over with_ manner.

_It’s a strip drinking game?_

_You said make it interesting._

A sweaty t-shirt hit the floor as the owner groaned in slight protest. 

You licked your bottom lip as orange juice splashed into the glasses before sliding them across the slightly tacky, damp table. The long shirt you wore rode up, revealing a peek of blush pink boy shorts and you swear you could _feel_ Owen’s reaction. The weight of his gaze burned into your bare skin as he shifted in his seat. You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, and while raising your glass, you couldn’t stop yourself, you shot him a wink. _Bottom’s up._

The tangy drink was a refreshing break from the booze, and your throat burned, _ached_ to feel more of it. Giving in, you swallowed, deliberately tipping your head back to expose your neck. Two of the three men all but choked on their drinks, but not Owen. Oh no, he savored it, clicking his tongue against his teeth as if to prove a point. There was a drop of juice on his bottom lip, which he caught with the pad of his thumb. You stood, crossed your arms as you fisted the hem of your shirt, and pulled it over your head. Owen came into view just as he sucked the juice from his thumb, and _god damn it_ if that didn’t make your stomach drop.

Wearing a pair of boy shorts, bra, and what could be considered sheer tank top, you sat down and pointed at the mason jar of moonshine. Barry and the greenie whose name you hadn’t thought to memorize ran a hand over their faces, groaning into their palms.

Owen’s bottom lip quirked _you sure?_

_Give it to me_ you crooked your finger, catching the jar as it slid across the table.

It was the strongest moonshine you had ever made. _Enough to put hair on your chest_ you had told the new kid. God, you really should ask him his name one of these days.

For the first time since playing the game, Owen “lost”. The shot glass wasn’t even on the table when he swallowed, grimacing only slightly. _God damn. That shit burns._

Without so much as a cringe, you swallowed the drink. The other two men pushed back from the table, spitting out their drinks as Owen stood tall, hooking his thumbs into the hem of his motor oil and grease stained Henley. His eyes never left yours and the bottom lip you were sure had seen many a wad of chewing tobacco quirked when you tugged yours between your teeth and crossed your legs, rewarding yourself with some much needed friction.

_God damn it._ He wore a white tank under his shirt. You know he heard you groan in protest. How much more would it take to get him out of his clothes?

Turned out, it didn’t take much longer. You had the brilliant idea to mix moonshine with vodka and lemon juice. It was at that point Barry and Greenie, _maybe that’d be your nickname for him,_ flat out refused, and walked out with their hands in the air.

You watched Owen spin the glass between his fingers and felt a tug low in your belly. _You gonna puss out?_

_Fuck that._ He raised his glass, arched his brow and threw back the shot.

You mirrored him, internally preparing for the oncoming storm of bitter booze. _Fuck, that’s nasty._ Your eyes fell to the table where a very full shot glass stood. The booze burned a trail down your chest and it took more than a moment for you to catch your breath. _Cheater!_

He laughed, holding his hands up to deflect the glass you lobbed at him. You pushed away from the table and stood in front of him, nudging his knee with your thigh. _Up. You know the rules. Cheating means all your clothes are gone._ That had been the rule you made up at the very last moment. And damn, what a good rule it was all of a sudden.

Owen leaned back, legs spread wide and an arm slung over the back of the chair. _You gonna make me?_

_God damn right._

He shifted deliciously as you straddled his lap, the rough denim of his dark brown jeans dug into the softer skin of your thighs. With him beneath you, your freshly manicured toes barely reached the cool floor of the compound break room. You grabbed the hem of his tank and started pushing it up his stomach, revealing a patch of dark blonde hair below his belly button. The urge to rake your nails through it was almost overpowering.

Suddenly, his hands were on yours. _Darlin’, what’re you doing?_

His thumbs were brushing over your pulse point and the way your body responded to hearing how he called you darlin’ pulled an almost embarrassing noise from deep within. _Something I’ve been wanting to do for a long time._ You kissed him then, not because he needed convincing or you were going to chicken out if you didn’t. You kissed him because he reached up, tangled his fingers in your hair and pulled you to him. You both inhaled sharply the split second before your lips touched.

He rolled beneath you, pushing himself hard, _oh so very hard_ against your borderline obscenely wet boy shorts. You finally managed to remove the tank top, tossing it over your shoulder with one hand as you bent over and ran your tongue along the column of his neck. His skin was salty, smelling of sweat, day old cologne, and this deep, underlying earthy smell that came from working with the raptors.

When you nipped at his earlobe, he growled predatorily low in his throat. He grabbed your ass, sliding his fingers beneath the very thin material of your boy shorts, and pulled hard enough that the zipper of his jeans found your clit. Bursts of white ate at the edges of your vision as your body went into sensory overload.

There was no stopping the immediate, painful orgasm, because Owen did it again. But this time, when he pulled you down, he rolled his hips. You grabbed at his shoulders, digging your nails _deep_ into the muscle as the mix of pleasure and pain intensified. The zipper bit into you and the coil deep in your belly snapped. _Who knew you could come so hard from a zipper?_ The shout of his name echoed in the small room once before his mouth claimed yours, swallowing your shouts and moans and screams.

He worked you through the painful orgasm, fingers massaging your ass as he pulled your body against his. Everything hurt but in a _do it again_ you wanted more kind of way, and judging by the way he was grunting your name, grinding up into you, he was ready to give you more than one orgasm.

One minute you were writhing on a chair and the next you were sprawled on his bed. Thick fingers all but ripped your tank top to shreds, roughly grabbing your breasts and pussy, bra and panties disappearing in the blink of an eye. Callouses scraped down your belly, dipped between your folds, teasing your overstimulated, aching, and throbbing sex before he stood and all you could hear over your roaring heart was the unbuckling of his belt.

Just as you gathered enough of yourself to look up, he began crawling up your body, eyes all but glowing in the dark.

_Fuck me._

_That’s the idea, darlin’._

Your legs that had previously fallen open of their own accord wrapped around his waist, knees digging into his hips, ankles locking behind him, desperately trying to connect your bodies. With a smirk, he reached down and grabbed himself, rubbing the wide head of his cock against you, spreading you slick over the head and onto his fingers.

Pushing into you slowly, he grunted none too softly as you stretched to accommodate him. You bit your lip, reaching behind your head and grabbing the headboard hard enough that your knuckles hurt. His head fell down, the short hairs on his head tickled your breasts as he watched the joining of your bodies. The moment he bottomed out, he blew out a breath, swearing almost crudely. You pushed up to your elbows, breasts brushing against his temples and cheekbones, and when he met your gaze, you rolled your hips, his name falling from your lips.

His beard burned your chin as you kissed, all tongue and teeth, swallowing each others moans. His back arched, shoulders bowed, hands clawed at the sheets and your body, leaving red and purple marks in their wake. Hips met over and over, sending wet slaps of skin on skin through the room.

He grabbed the headboard that was thump, thump, thumping against the wall, securing the other behind your back and pulled you _hard, harder_ as he thrust _deeper_. He came with a shout of your name, your throat hurt from screaming his, following him down the rabbit hole and off in the distance, the high pitched call from the raptors drifted in the open window.

Your body, slick and bruised, buzzed as Owen rolled to his side, a large hand falling to your stomach, thumb twirling around your belly button. The many, _many_ shots of alcohol and rush of adrenaline and the intensity of your multiple orgasms hit you like a ton of bricks. You gave a loud yawn and rest a hand over his, turning to look at Owen.

He pulled you close to him, and pressed a kiss to your sweat dampened forehead. _Get some sleep, darlin’_.  The pair of you fell asleep to the oddly soothing calls of the raptors.


End file.
